Mirrored souls
by Terfle
Summary: Concetta meets a most unsuitable man. What will happen next? Smutty smut
1. Chapter 1

_"Was it the infinite sadness of her eyes that drew him or the mirror of himself that he found in the gorgeous clarity of her mind?"_

Her trepidation at being at the séance was not so much at the thought of contacting her dead husband but being under the steady gaze of the medium's manager, a bear of a man with dark eyes of an uncertain depth. She was inclined to be wary of him. The medium droned on, the atmosphere was cagey and she could hardly bear much more of this. Her husband hadn't shown himself even with the best of efforts and she felt like this medium was a fraud. Throughout all of this, he barely blinked, his gaze coming back to hers every so often. The moment she could escape, she did, rushing outside for some air. She would never go back there, this messing around with spirits was a terrible idea and she would have to go right to confession over it. She sensed a presence behind her and turned to see him, a sturdy figure silhouetted in the dimming light. He enquired after her, concerned that she did not feel well. She told him she was fine and left with a curt goodbye. Such a disconcerting man. She was glad she'd never see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

She turned to face the new customer, surprise reverberating between them as they considered their options. She led him to a table in the corner with politeness, never on the verge of being over friendly. She knew he was struggling to understand the menu and couldn't prevent a smirk from reaching her lips but in the last minute he turned the tables on her, asking her what was good. She recommended her favourites. He was delighted to take them and the next hour and a half was spent on a modest three-course meal and a carafe of good red wine in the company of a book. She didn't expect that. She tilted her head to catch the title, it meant nothing to her. Fitzgerald who? She didn't have much time for recreational reading. He caught her eye and paid quickly. At the door he turned around and shattered her well-heeled professionalism.

'I didn't catch your name?'

He sounded hesitant this time, showing none of the arrogance from before. But his smile was boyish, almost sweet and against her better wishes, she basked in its glow.

She couldn't see any harm in telling him. It was a pure name, a virtuous name and he appreciated that she replied but he was sure it didn't suit her. It was a name for a saint, a nun and she was neither. There was something rebellious lurking within the gracious planes of her face, something seductive. Her eyes spoke of depths more inscrutable than the bland expression she had carefully cultivated. He bid a polite goodbye and resolved to come back soon.

Concetta watched him leave and leaned against the door, wondering about him. Warwick Hamilton was an enigma.


	3. Chapter 3

He noted that she wore those red beads all the time. He wasn't usually detail oriented but he could hardly fail to notice that same splash of colour adorning those habitual widows weeds. He watched her make coffee with a frank, curious expression that burned into her peripheral vision. She ignored him. Handing him his order, the brief touch of his fingers on hers elicited an undefinable thrill that coursed through her veins. She couldn't make up her mind whether she liked it or not. He was adept at reading signals and left it at that. He sat at the bar and sipped an excellent cup of inky espresso while immersed in his book. He didn't want to overwhelm her senses. He wanted her to decide for herself. Murmuring his thanks, he left. As he expected, she didn't gaze after him. She wasn't curious enough yet. The stakes weren't as high as it could be and he wanted to whip her into a frenzy that would lead into an intense seduction. Sometimes she was so still he could see the agitation hammering away at her, beating at her heart under her dress. He wasn't used to such reticent women. She intrigued him and he wanted to unravel her, to plunge into every depth she had and wring out every drop of wanton sensuality from her. He had no doubt she had the capacity for it but she wasn't allowing anyone to stroke it.


	4. Chapter 4

What did a man like that see in a fraud like the medium? She had passed his table with no acknowledgement all night and then twirled round to pose the question to him out of the blue. He was so taken aback he'd dropped his book on the table. She'd never actively perused conversation with him.

'She's a gifted woman. She can communicate with the dead. It's not something just anyone can do.'

Concetta's expression was so uncharacteristically sceptical he nearly started laughing. She saw the twitch of his mouth and demanded to know what was so funny.

'I could tell that you weren't on board with her methods. She didn't manage to reach your husband.'

The anger in her eyes wiped the smile from his face. He was goading a grieving widow and needed to be considerate. He softened his tone.

'She has provided comfort for my soul.'

'She is a fraud' she hissed.

'She doesn't always get it right' he carefully acknowledged. 'But when she does, it's all true. She is especially gifted in reading the complexities of the heart.'

'And has she read your heart?' Concetta's tone was malicious. She was forgetting herself. The way he stared at her made her realise it. She took a breath and made a considerable effort to compose herself. But it was too late, he'd glimpsed beneath her smooth exterior and grinned triumphantly at her unmasking.

She turned on her heel and walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

The intensity of his gaze enraged her. He was here again and again. Every so often he turned up like a bad penny and all she'd see the entire time was this brooding bear constantly catching her eye no matter if he was looking at her or not. She stalked outside for some air and found that he was quicker than she gave him credit for.

He decided to call her bluff. Gripping her wrist firmly but not roughly, he dared her to walk away. She flicked him off scornfully and walked away. He wasn't willing to let her go so easily so he matched her stride and grasped her wrist again, turning her round to meet his steady gaze. Her eyes blazed with anger at this impertinence and tried to roughly tug herself from him, failing to break his grip. He kept his voice low and matter of fact.

'I keep wanting to see you because you intrigue me. Believe me, I don't make it a habit to chase after women.'

She stopped struggling. She was curious as to what he wanted that he would keep pursuing her. She didn't know what he was offering her. He didn't seem to be the type to lavish expensive gifts on a lady. He wasn't a sentimental man. But she thought she could see something else. Something sad and melancholy. Something she could relate to.

'I don't need a man like you in my life' she retorted.

'I don't think you've had much of anything in your life' he stated.

'What do you know about my life?' She replied bitterly, revealing the anguish under the smooth mask she inhabited. Warwick was now sure that her husband had been every bit of an arrogant pig he thought he was. He meant to capture her for the night, for her to trust him to bring the heat out from under her simmering skin. He had a lot of wants when it came to her and all it would take was for her to say yes to him. Then he could give her what she deserved. He never looked away from her as he let his thumb lightly stroke her palm.

'You are far too handsome a woman to wither under the sun of neglect.'

Her face flushed as she understood what he wanted to give her. A thrill shot through her as she stood rooted to the spot, unable to take her eyes off his. Never had she met a man who wanted to give himself to her. This duty was usually a woman's lot in life but this dangerous man was offering to pleasure her while not wanting anything in return. She moved closer, suddenly intrigued. The air between them hummed with rising excitement while she seriously considered it. She hated that he knew it as he grinned wolfishly, both knowing she would now say yes. She was sure it was a trap. But the good girl in her wavered. She was fed up of being the good girl, shackled to the restraints of respectability. To her shock, a flash of heat spread over her body, in-between her legs throbbed an ache she never knew she had. She tried to control her breathing, but it was too late. He'd seen the agitation flickering in her eyes and her hands were trembling. The good girl was battling with her beaten down desires and it was getting to her. The spark of rebellion was taking hold and captivating her, the thought of putting aside her virtue for one night to crack open the shell of that porcelain doll she was trapped in and to finally breathe was so appealing she felt dizzy even daring to think of it. He silently willed her with all his heart to say yes. She now saw a beseeching urge in his eyes, so unlike anything she'd seen from him before and it tipped her over the edge.

'Si.'


	6. Chapter 6

She silently led him to her room and he stepped aside and let her shut the door. He seemed too tall for this room, the one she had to move into when she became a widow. A lone woman didn't need all that space, let her step aside and give it for people who did they said. As always, she did as she was told and right at this moment, felt ashamed that she was taking him to this attic space. It was furnished simply but warmly and he thought it was cosy. He said so and she laughed bitterly.

'A widow doesn't need to take up too much space' she quoted to him. An unusual feeling engulfed him. A prickle behind his eye, the stab of hurt she had felt was throbbing in his head. His mind was set. He moved closer, laid a hand on her face and stroked it, thumb gliding down her cheek. He could see the shock flaring in those chestnut eyes; she'd expected him to roughly shake her out of her solitude, take hold of her throat with those coarse hands or nail her to the bed with obstinate thrusts. She had put herself in danger just to feel alive and was waiting to pay the price. He could see she was desperate to feel something other than the dull throb of her heart, day after day, living in a grey world of grief.

He would unravel her. But not in the way she was expecting.

The first kiss was a revelation, a slow spark that ignited a heat she was starting to set free. Soon he had her up against the wall, his body pressing her up against the hard surface, his hands tenderly cupping her head, making sure she was comfortable. There was a surprising sensitivity to his kiss, slow and tender, with a hard edge that never let her forget he could crush her. But her doubts over whether she could trust him was melting under his assured hands and willing mouth. For he was willing to do whatever it took to drive her senseless.

He gathered her up and laid her on the bed. With its modestly attired in a burnt orange duvet and pillows, it was comfortable and luxurious, one of the few items she had taken from the marital bedroom. She had been awarded the bed that came with the room, unusually a double instead of the miserable single she was supposed to have been allocated. It was too much effort to change it and they had taken pity on her. She supposed they expected her to get a cat. She wasn't at that point yet.


	7. Chapter 7

He'd started off with a massage. It was a skill he didn't advertise. Any woman who he judged to be in need, he would willingly provide for. She was lying on her front, head turned to the side and relaxed on her arms. He had been so slow and gentle with her, she had allowed him to help her shed her clothes with far more at ease than she normally would have. The touch of his hands sent shivers down her spine and with his murmured reassurance, she allowed herself to express herself a lot more vocally than she otherwise would have dared to.

He controlled himself as best as he could but skimming his hands over her smooth olive toned skin, he couldn't help but harden at the sound of her quiet low moans punctuating the crackling atmosphere. He ignored the fluttering of desire creeping up on him and applied himself to the task at hand. His fingers were more dexterous than they looked and he was gratified with the effect they had on her. He had so much more to give her. Her shoulders, her back, sweeping down to her hips and caressing her round backside, her breath started to come in short sharp bursts. He could see her knickers dampening as he slowly pulled down the fabric to continue. He teased it off her as he heard a panting sigh. He had teased her arousal from her, made sure it had soaked the sensible black fabric like a dishcloth and then slid it off and tossed it to the floor.

Her cunt was slick with longing and as he ran a finger down that deliciously slippery seam, she tensed up and cried out to a pitch that pierced his heart. He hoped to hear much more of it soon because he was far from done. His heart burned with desire.


	8. Chapter 8

Concetta was a practical woman. She knew how to cook, bake, clean, balance the books, charm the customers and sew efficiently. What else did she need in this life? She had learned a few tricks on how to please a man as a bonus, wearily employed for her boorish husband but she hadn't needed to use them in a while thanks to him having been murdered a while back. But Warwick's tongue which had a life of its own, had put her knowledge in the shade. She was sprawled on her back on her previously chaste bed while he locked her into submission with his strong arms and had used every trick he knew to send her spinning into an almost unconscious state. Sometimes darting, sometimes lapping, his tongue found places that she didn't even know existed. Her lips were so wet and swollen she could hardly understand how. What was that nub that zinged a bolt of electricity to her core every time he sucked it?

She was humming with tension by the time he withdrew, sparks quivering all over her body. He had the smile of a veritable satyr and she trembled at the thought of what he would do to her next. He knew she was looking forward to it as much as he was. His roughened thumb circled that hidden piece of machinery and she gasped so loudly she was sure the whole building could hear. She slammed her head back into the pillow and cried out in a low pitch as he slid those deft fingers in and out of her core, her hips bucking to meet his fingers and that errant thumb that never stopped working. Who said men couldn't multitask?

A wave of heat and pleasure made its merry way to wash over her as she alternately tensed and relaxed in-between making noises she never knew she could make. She recalled that lascivious smile he had given her and could appreciate it in its full extent, especially as he had done her the favour of making her so wet she barely noticed he was starting to slowly slide his hard length into her as she still reeled from the sensation. But when he stroked his hands up her legs, drew them up a little further and started to rock, she almost fainted. She could barely hold on as he leaned forward, held her down and changed up the pace to firmly thrust to a rhythm that excited and soothed her at the same time. Hungry enough but not too fast, hard but not brutal as though to hurt. He was playing her body like a harp. She barely noticed it when he came, her body was sparking too much.


	9. Chapter 9

She sat up against the bedpost, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath after that extraordinary session. His eyes followed her rounded breasts, tipped magnificently with deep rose brown nipples. They had proved to be pleasingly sensitive and he longed to touch them again. The next few minutes were punctuated with her sighs as he took each one into his mouth and sucked to the hum of her pleasure. They emerged both panting heavily after that simple but effective remedy to curing the depressive state they had both found themselves in the other day. He raised himself up and steadied himself on the bedpost, meaning to engage in another game of how he could make her lose control.

She surprised him with a move of her own. He felt her wrap a hand around his hip and the other on his stiff cock. He started nervously, not expecting that she would take the initiative. She kept her grip on him and started to slide her hand up and down his shaft. She was a widow after all, hardly a blushing virgin. She knew what to do from here. He let himself relax and lean forward, clinging onto the bedpost while the warm long strokes tantalised him and made him groan with longing. It had been a while since a woman had played her fingers on him. He was content with this sensation until she turned the tables on him. He cried out in shock as he was enclosed in a warmer wetter grip. She'd taken him into her generous mouth, taking his swagger down a notch or two as she continued stroking and licking. He panted at the touch of her tongue swirling around the tip, his head a whirl of night sky as she purred with contentment which spurred him on to enjoy it even more. She slipped his aching cock back between her lips and he felt like he would explode. She sucked him steadily to the rhythm of his groans, her tongue caressing where she knew he was most sensitive before drawing him back in. She gently disengaged before he came, to soak the sheets the way she had. He let her do as she pleased for it pleased them both.


	10. Chapter 10

She'd never talked during sex, her husband had grunted and called her crude words on occasion but she had tuned him out, smarting from the humiliation that he wanted a whore of a wife. Sometimes he'd made her feel dirty. But this other man had got her in a far dirtier position and he hadn't made her feel humiliated. She'd wound her legs around him to take hold of him. She could feel him subsiding and relaxing into her frame as she run her fingers through his hair and trailed light burning kisses on his neck and face. Later she'd turned to switch off the light and his hand stopped her. His breath lingered as he kissed her shoulder and neck as he knelt behind her and took hold of her hips. Plunging into her depths, he kept the rocking motion that made her keen with desire. She leaned forward and dropped her head to the mattress, enjoying the rush this gave her. He enveloped her with his body and continued kissing every part of her he could reach while she panted harder.

'I've wanted to fuck you since I first saw you. Doesn't it feel good to be desired in such a way?' He playfully whispered to her. She groaned her assent.

It did feel good to be sheathed in lust. Her nipples tingled and grew harder than ever at the thought. After a while she leaned even more forward and relaxed onto the bed in the massage position that had started it all. Grabbing a pillow, she eased it under her hips for an angle that redefined pleasure. She was a quick learner he noted with pleasure. He changed the pace and anchored her to the bed hard and fast, her moans rising and falling with the mattress. She could tell that the feeling was different for him now, it was frenzied and jagged and the heat had turned into lightening. His open hand slapped one exposed cheek and she cried out at the impact flashing its way through her aching centre. She could feel her pleasure mounting as she could feel his, lying on top of her with the clasping and unclasping of his fingers on her shoulders to tell her. It felt wonderful but it wasn't the roller coaster she had experienced earlier. It was his turn to lose himself in the moment. She abandoned herself to the pace of his thrust. He buried his head in her neck as the final shudders overtook him and moaned so softly she was surprised. She hadn't known he was capable of making such a gentle sound.


	11. Chapter 11

They lay entwined in each other's arms, hearts beating wildly to the tune of their dance. She nestled her nose into his neck for a while so she could smell her perfume on him. She felt liberated being this different person tonight. He soothed her with the assurance that she'd always been this person. She'd just never had the chance to discover it.

He wanted no thanks for playing the match to her flame. It was as much for his pleasure watching her blossom under his ministration. To bring the fire back into her heart. For many other women like the Honourable Phryne Fisher, they had their pick of whoever they wanted. He had enjoyed his night with her for the most part but she had shown him how he was dispensable. This woman, the Italian widow had need of his services and he was happy to provide. This was a much more satisfying night of no strings attached exploration and revelation. It was intense, drenched in sweat with the heady scent of passion and dominance. Her opulent perfume had rubbed off on him, coating the hollows of his skin and welding them together. He had taken her to the edge and brought her back more confident, enough for her to take control herself and enjoy it. It was worth every second he had worked at to ensnare her.

Concetta felt elated and reckless. Tonight she had been rendered submissive by her own consent and had been taught how to reclaim her desire. She'd never met a man like Warwick, who despite his glowering manner, knew how to employ all of his wiles to set her free. She had to admit that she was wrong about him and told him so. His answer was a quiet chuckle and to kiss her as tenderly as a husband should do.

They basked in the dim golden glow and thought nothing of the next day when they would go their separate ways. They knew it was a possibility they would do it again. But no promises needed to be made. That ugly cloud had lifted for now and they would take each day as it came.


End file.
